Break the Board: the 46th Hunger Games
by Sitiah3
Summary: The last few games have been uneventful and the Gamemakers are scrambling to put on a show to remember. Now the board is set and the pieces soon to fall into motion. Who will make it out? **SYOT Closed**
1. Introduction

**Ah yes I have decided to try my hand at a SYOT. The tribute form will be on my profile, and submissions are limited to two tributes per person, please pm for a submission.**

 **Also I received some lovely constructive criticism from Radio Free Death (Thank you! I appreciate it!) and have touched up this opening introduction a little. I am far from a professional writer and constructive criticism is always appreciated.**

Jade Emmersen reclines against the velveteen upholstery and watches the fingers of smoke curl from the end of her lit cigarette. Two manicured nails click against the arm of the chair. Across the dusky lounge the TVs on the wall blare, broadcasting the first of what is sure to be an endless stream of Gamemaker interviews.

"You think they'll give it a good show this year?" Next to her Atius Carsons swirls his drink thoughtfully, his voice raised just enough to be audible over the television and murmur of customers. The burn scars across his face look practically livid dim lighting.

"Have to, don't they?" It's no secret the last few years had been something of a disappointment. Dull arenas and anticlimactic victories had left the blood thirsty captiolites rather bored. A few scrawny outer district kids and one career everyone knew from day one would win, it didn't exactly make for good entertainment. "From what I've heard old Darius is at the end of his leash. Either these games go well or that's the end of his career."

"Old bat. Wish he could've been a bit _less_ creative with my games eh?" Atius lets out a bark of laughter and Jade scowls. She remembers Atius' year—almost everyone does it seems—watching on the rug in her parents living room as the District 2 tribute crawled out of the smoking volcanic crater to be hailed a victor. His laughter subsides and he steeples his fingers, despite the fact he's missing the tips of a few. "I wonder what the arena will be this year."

She just shrugs. "Who knows." Last year had found the tributes in a bleak landscape of tall grass and nothing else. With any luck this year would be more eventful. "Why? Trying to get an advantage for your tributes?"

"Aren't we all? I thought maybe you would have heard from one of your patrons."

She laughs but there is something mirthless about it. "They might be rich men, but not _that_ rich. You're mentoring this year then?"

Atius nods. "Figured I'd come out of retirement, give it a last good run. God knows we need it."

"Hmmm." It's true. 2 hasn't brought home a tribute in over nine years, something of a record.

"I assume you are?"

She gives him a brilliant smile, the guarded kind she usually reserves for patrons. "Of course! You know me, I could never stay away for long."

He inclines his head, catching the weight behind her words. The capitol won't let her stay away for long, just like they won't let him. But even here, in the dregs of the capitols underground talking about such things is dangerous.

"You work too hard Jade." He can't help but frown a little, the concern evident in his voice.

She shakes her head and reaches forward to tap the ashes of her cigarette into a delicate silver tray. "And you party to hard Atius." A grim smile plays at her lips, as she raises it back to her lips.

"Old habits die hard I suppose."

"They do indeed." Jade lifts her drink, "Cheers?"

"To our tributes then, another year another 24." Arius raises his drink to clink their's together. "And to the 46th annual Hunger Games."

Jade presses the glass to her lips and took a sip. On the TV the interview blares on. "May the odds be ever in our favor."


	2. Tribute List Update

_**Here is the up to date tribute list, Districts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 9,12 are now full.**_

 _ **There are still 3 tribute spots open so please check the list bellow if you are still interested in submitting.**_

 _Tribute List:_ _  
_

District 1:

M) Charles Gleamer (16)

F)Ruby Junko (18)

District 2:

M) Evory Mills (18)

F) Invidia Butler (17)

District 3:

M) Caspian Cacile (15)

F) Lennox Briggs (15)

District 4:

M) Lorenzo Venchenzo (18)

F) Faith Ashbury (17)

District 5:

M) Eiyko Flynn (15)

F) Anya Evans (15)

District 6:

M) Carter Burners (15)

F) Kylie Axel (15)

District 7:

M)

F) Elysium Cloud (18)

District 8:

M) Cadmus Ambrose (17)

F) Smantha "Sam" Frayy (14)

District 9:

M) Barley Caidum (16)

F) Delia "Dee" Jones (13)

District 10:

M)

F) Elena Seffner (18)

District 11:

M)

F) Anise Haeffele (15)

District 12:

M)Lucroy Gyle (15)

F) Lily Gelo (12)


	3. District 1 Reaping

**It's time to kick start the reapings with District 1! I don't have a particular schedule for writing at present (as I'm still on summer vacations) so for now I will be posting these as they are written. Please feel free to give me constructive criticism or any suggestions for what you want to see happen during the course of the games. Also I really hope I do everyone's tributes justice.**

 **Additionally there are still 4 tribute slots open!**

District 1 Reapings

 **Charles Gleamer (16)**

In a flash of silver and steal the spear soars through the air. I watch its path as it arcs with deadly precision to strike the very heart of the makeshift target. The thump it makes as it sinks a full foot into the stuffed straw is oddly satisfying.

"Training the morning of the reapings? Have you gone mad Charley?"

I whip around to see Charolette leaning up against a tree, arms folded neatly across her chest. She looks nice, all dolled up in her reaping clothes. She sees me looking and flashes me a bright smile.

I turn away and try to keep the flush from rising in my cheeks. "It never hurts to get in a little extra practice." I mutter, pulling a razor sharp throwing knife from my belt. A flick of the wrist sends it hurtling towards the target. It misses the center but just barely.

Charolette laughs as I go to retrieve my poorly aimed missile.

"Go on, give it here." She holds out a hand. Grudgingly I deposit the blade in her palm.

"What? You think you can do better?"

"Oh I know I can." She sends it flying, burying itself in the red center of the target. "I was always better at throwing knives than you."

"Ha! But only because I'm better than you in just about everything else."

She harrumphs, tossing her head in a spray of blonde curls. "I wouldn't be so sure about that." The smile on her lips tells me she's only joking though. She might be the best girl in our year of training but I've always been better. "Really though, you shouldn't be training right before you're _big moment._ Capitol knows you don't want to be all sweaty on camera. After all, remember what they always tell us in training: appearance—"

"—is everything." I can't help but finish the well-worn phrase. The trainers repeat it so often that they might as well just write it on the inside of our skulls.

"Exactly." Charolette rubs her hands together, "If you want I can help you clear all this up."

"Thanks."

Together we clear up my informal training station, packing away the weapons and target and stopping them under a loose stone in one of the many statues. Lots of kids come to the park to train on nice days, and for the most part the Peacekeepers turn a blind eye. But technically training is still forbidden and leaving your weapons strewn all over the grass isn't a great way to avoid unwanted attention. The Peacekeepers might not be able to overlook _that_.

We're just surveying our work when a bell rings in the distance, clear and piercing. It's the reaping bell, the one they only ring once a year. It lets the whole district know that we have exactly thirty minutes left.

"Come on, we should go." I hold my arm out to Charolette and we link up. There's nothing particularly intimate about the contact—at least nothing that goes beyond the realm of close friendship—but I can't help cherish the feeling of her arm against mine. She smells nice too, like vanilla and apples and something else I can't recognize.

We walk for a few moments in silence, reveling in the warmth of the sun on our faces. A gentle breeze stirs the trees so that the whole park comes alive with the gentle rustling.

"Are you really going to do it?" Charolette's voice is so soft I almost don't catch her words.

"Do what?"

"Volunteer Charley! Don't you play dumb with me!" She swats my arm playfully, even though her tone is deadly serious.

I close my eyes. "I have to. You know I do." Of all my friends and family she's the only one that knows, the only one I've told.

"But why this year? You're only sixteen Charley. Why not wait until you're eighteen?"

 _Because I can't go into the arena with you! I couldn't bear to kill you!_ The words are too close to the truth and I bite them back. In district 1 most kids grow up with the knowledge that if they go into the games they'll be competing against not only twenty two teenagers from throughout Panem but also one of their close friends, someone they've trained with since the age of eight. For me the idea of going up against Charolette has become something unthinkable.

But I can't tell her that. Instead I just smile and shake my head, "I'm ready now. Besides the academy is sending in Ruby Junko as the female volunteer. She might be good but I'm better."

Charolette shrugs but I can see from her light frown that it's still bothering her. Whatever she wants to say she doesn't though. Instead she remains quiet as we emerge from the last of the trees into the very heart of District 1. Everything is beautifully decorated today, just like it is every year for the reaping. Silver and gold streamers drape between the roofs of houses and shops and cheery flower arrangements bedeck many doors. In the bright sunlight it looks like something you might find on a post card in the capitol.

As we approach the main square the streets become packed with eager people. Parents with children too young to participate heft them onto their shoulder so as to afford them a better view. Everyone is awash of color, decked out in their very best, and all hoping they'll get the chance to be on capitol TV even if it's only for a second.

We push through easily with many a muttered apology and 'pardon me' and join the queue of kids that's formed in front of the peacekeeper's check in station. I can see the blonde back of Ruby Junko's head—the girl who will be my district partner—a few people up in line, talking to one of her friends from the academy. She's certainly dressed the part of a tribute, in a flashy scarlet dress.

Charolette catches the direction of my gaze and snorts. "People are going to wonder what kind of attention she's trying to attract."

I can't help but snicker a little at that. Ruby is certainly dressed to stand out. I might have made some other comment on my soon-to-be-district-partner but at that moment one of the Peacekeepers holds out a hand to me.

"Next please."

I move to step forward but Charolette's hand reaches out to snatch mine.

"Good luck Charley." She whispers, "I'll come find you after okay? I have something I want to give you." Then she releases me, and I stumble forward towards the sign in station. My hand tingles slightly.

"Name please?" The peacekeeper asks, fixing me with a rather bored expression.

"Charles Gleamer."

 **Ruby Junko (18)**

Standing in the crowded town square I can't help but bounce a bit on the balls of my feet. Next to me Heart is standing on her tip toes, craning her neck to see over the crowd.

"I can't see Amazement… you don't think he'll be late do you?"

I toss my head, my customary pig tails catching the light. "And miss his own reaping? Even if it wasn't punishable by death to miss the reaping I don't think he would be that stupid." My district partner might not be the brightest bulb but _no one_ passes up their volunteer opportunity.

Heart sighs, "You know it's kinda a shame you're gonna have to kill him. Say what you want about Amazement Clarion but he sure is cute."

I roll my eyes playfully. "Please don't tell me you've got a crush on Amazement."

"I did not say that!"

"Hmm. But you implied it." I smile at her outraged expression, "Just remember I was your friend first when it comes time to sponsor tributes okay?"

"Of course I'd support you over him! What kind of friend to you think I am?"

"Fine, fine. I believe you." I wave a hand dismissively. "But hush, I think they're gonna start soon."

Up on the stage the mayor and this year's mentors are taking their places. I spot the silvery blonde curls of Jade Emmersen and next to her golden headed Valour La'Claire laughing and joking together. Go figure they would be this year's mentors. Adored by the capitol with dazzling wins on their records, still young and beautiful, they represent everything good about District 1. They're everything victors should be. I smile a little. A year from now it will be me up on that stage. A year from now I will be as adored as Jade.

Nearby out district escort—a rather plump woman named Ravina—flutters like an oversized moth. She keeps stirring the two crystal dishes that hold this year's reaping slips. I'm not sure why. The whole district knows that this year's tributes won't be whoever's names are read off those strips of paper. They never are.

The square falls into an excited sort of silence as the last late-comers filter into the roped off square.

Ravina beams brightly at a nearby cameraman before striding forward to seize the microphone.

"Welcome district 1!" She smiles out over the crowd, "It is such an honor to be back here this year. I'm sure you're all just excited for this year's Hunger Games as I am."

A cheer tears from the throats of the onlookers who crowd the side streets.

"Yes. Yes." She claps her gloved hands, "Now without further ado let's discover which lucky boy and girl will have the honor of representing District 1 this year."

I lean forward as Ravina sticks her hand into the crystal bowl and seizes a strip. I know the moment she reads that name I will have only a fraction of a second in which to act. "This year's female tribute from District one will be… Opaline Láren!"

"I volunteer!" My voice cracks through the silence like a whip. I push forward, shoving my way through the throngs of teenagers. As I go I get a glimpse of Opaline, the thirteen year old whose name was called. She has not moved at all, knowing that someone would step up for her spot. In a matter of seconds I've reached the steps of the justice building. Ravina holds out a hand to me, beckoning me up onto the stage. Graciously I accept it, allowing her to steer me up onto the steps.

"And what's your name?"

I look out over the crowd and give my most charming smile. "I'm Ruby, Ruby Junko."

"Well aren't you lovely? Let's have a big hand for our female volunteer Ms. Ruby Junko."

There's a loud smattering of applause. But my eyes are fixed on the only person in the crowd who refuses to clap for me. Kiri's grey eyes—so like mine—blaze from her spot among the seventeen year olds. The disapproval upon her face is apparent. I avert my eyes, watching instead as Ravina holds up the boy's slip.

 _Who cares what she thinks, she's just jealous she'll never be where you are._ I tell myself firmly. But the darker part of me responds, _she's your sister, maybe she's right about the games._

But I can't afford to think like that right now.

"And now, the male tribute for District 1 will be Vine Burgundy!"

"I volunteer!" A boy's voice rings out.

I look to Amazement, standing with the other seventeen year old boys. But he hasn't moved, eyes wide, mouth slightly parted.

"I volunteer!" The voice calls again, and I realized it is coming from the sixteen year olds.

I real as I watch the pretty brown haired boy mount the stage to stand next to me. I recognize him vaguely from training, two years beneath me. But he is not Amazement, and just like that my well laid plans have been blown to bit. I _know_ Amazement. I know how he fights, I know how he thinks. I know how to defeat Amazement. I don't know these things about this boy.

"And what's your name dear?"

He smile cheekily, looking practically angelic. "Charles Gleamer."

"Well then it's wonderful to have you with us this year Mr. Gleamer." Ravina shakes her head in a spray of aqua curls, "There you have it! Give it up for this year's tributes from District 1! Ruby Junko and Charles Gleamer!"

The crowd roars it's approval and Ravina motions for us to shake hands.

I clasp Charles hand. All the traces of friendliness have melted from his face. I narrow my eyes, studying his face, looking for anything in his countenance that will give me insight into what makes him tick. Then the moment passes and we break apart and stand to face the crowd.

Charles glances at me. "Good luck Ruby." His voice is cold as ice.

"And you Charles." I toss my head and smile for the cameras. _You're going to need it._


	4. District 2 Reaping

**On to District 2! I'm glad that so far everyone seems to have enjoyed the reaping chapters (Although this is only the second one). I get so nervous thinking that everyone will not like my representations of their characters but it's reassuring to hear that so far all is well.**

 **Additionally all tribute spots are now full, thank you everyone for submitting!**

District 2 Reapings

 **Invidia Butler (17)**

"Ms. Butler, I'm going to need to ask you a few questions about last night."

I press the tips of my fingers together and look up at Head Trainer. "Of course Mr. Slate. Ask away." I glance around the room as he rattles off a list of questions the answers to which are all either 'no' or 'I don't know'. I've only been in this room once before, the day the trainers decided that Alana Baxwell should be the District 2 volunteer this year and not me. That was over a month ago and it leaves me with the same sense of gloom it did the first time. Perhaps the portraits of fallen tributes which line the walls are a bit too macabre for my tastes.

"Ms. Butler this incredibly serious." Marcus leans across the table, "As you know Alana Baxwell was involved in an accident last night and no longer fit to compete in the 46th Hunger Games. We need to know who is responsible."

I give him my sweetest smile, "And you think that I pushed Alana down two flights of stairs?"

"I didn't say that."

"No but you implied it."

He runs a hand across his face and through his greying hair. "You are a very talented girl Invidia, it would be a shame to see you throw it all away over this incident."

 _I'm not the one who threw it all away. You threw it away when you picked Alana over me to represent District 2._

"It wasn't me, I swear."

"All we need to know is where you were last night."

I brush a few strands of hair away from my face. "Fine. I was at my friend Juno Ashwell's house watching the Gamemaker interviews. You can ask her if you like and she'll tell you."

"Hmm, and what time did you leave Ms. Ashwell's house?"

"Does it matter?" I lean forward on my elbows, "Mr. Slate, Alana has at least fifty pounds on me, I couldn't push her down a flight of stairs even if I wanted to." _Not without help anyways_ , but I don't add that. It wouldn't exactly help my case.

He holds my gaze for a few seconds then sighs, "Very well Ms. Butler you are free to go. I expect we'll discuss this again after the reapings."

I rise and smile brightly at him. "Thank you and I look forward to it."

I'm about to leave when his voice calls me back, "And Invidia, I do hope you're not still planning on volunteering."

"Of course not Mr. Slate, I wouldn't dream of it."

 **Evory Mills (18)**

The slightest of breezes ruffles my hair. Far above the sun beats down, baking the cement compound that is District 2's justice building like a cake is baked in an oven. A bead of sweat rolls down the back of my neck and I tug absently at the collar of my suit.

 _Blasted weather._

Gravel crunches underfoot as I step forward in the line. All around kids press in, eager to be admitted to the roped off area in front of the justice building.

Next to me Galahad gives a long low whistle. "Damn, they chose the hottest day all year for this."

On the other side of me Delphi fans her face.

"Tell me about, I don't want to look all sweaty on camera."

"Nah, you'll probably look cool and collected next to Alana." I can't help but smile a little at the thought of my soon-to-be-district-partner, recalling how her face gets completely red each time she exerts herself in training.

Delphi's looks up at me wide eyed. "Alana's not volunteering, didn't you know?"

A series of curses roll of Galahad's tongue.

I wheel with the shock. "Why not?" Hadn't she been talking about volunteering for last month? Surely I remembered her boasting in practice, shaking my hand in recognition that we two would be the tributes this year.

Delphi runs a hand through her blonde hair—a nervous habit we share. "I thought you would've known, everyone's been talking about it." She lowers her voice a little so as just to be audible above the hubbub around us. "Last night she fell down the stairs at the training center, broke her leg in three places and fractured her collar bone."

"Damn." How in the name of capitol had she managed that? We're not even supposed to be at training the day before the reapings. There's always too big a risk someone will be injured.

Galahad shakes his head, "You think she really fell?"

"That's the official story anyways." Delphi shrugs, " I mean I'd like to see someone strong enough to throw Alana Baxwell down a flight of stairs."

I stare at the two of them in revulsion, the implications of their words just dawning in my head. "What you think someone pushed her?" I idea is abhorrent, dishonorable, and all together wrong.

"Don't ask me." Delphi runs another and through her hair, "I just seems unlikely she would _accidentally_ break her leg the day before the reapings. Doesn't it?"

"But who would want to do that?" I'm still trying to wrap my mind around it all.

Galahad opens his mouth but at that moment and group of four girls brushes past us, moving up the line. One of them—a tall girl with brown ringlets—slams her shoulder into Delphi, sending her staggering.

"Get out of the way ugly."

"Hey! Get back here!" I shout because no one, _no one_ talks to my sister that way.

One of the girls round's about. Not the one that shoulder checked Delphi, she's a little shorter than her friends and slighter, with dark brown hair that looks almost red in the sunlight. I recognize her from training, a year beneath me. She grins at me. Her eyes are like two chips of ice.

"Good luck today Evory." Then she turns on her heal, following her friends to the Peackeeper's desk. There was something off putting about that smile.

I unclench my hands.

Next to me Delphi smooths the front of her dress. "Ugh I hate them."

"Who?"

She gestures, "Those girls, Medea, Juno, Liviana and Invidia. They think they're better than everyone else."

I open my mouth to tell her not worry about this supposed evil quartet—after no one will dare bother her once she's the sister of a victor—but at that moment I realized we've reached the front of the line.

"Next." One of the peacekeepers clicks her finger at me and I step forward. "Name?"

"Evory Mills."

For just a second her eyes widen in recognition of the name then she nods, "Hand please."

I hold out my hand and let her prick my finger. She scans it then waves me on. "Good luck Evory." I guess it's not a secret that I'm volunteering today.

I wave goodbye to Delphi and Galahad then go and take my place next to the twins Phoenix and Phox in the eighteen year old section. They welcome me just as Oreta—our escort—begins to speak.

"I take it you heard about Alana?" Phox whisper as Oreta prattles about the Dark Days and creation of the games..

"Just now actually."

"I wonder who did it?" Phoenix scans the crowd.

Phox nods, "I'd bet that it's whoever volunteer to take her spot."

"I don't understand how anyone could do that." Whoever would think of throwing a fellow trainee down the stairs for a spot in the games doesn't deserve that spot.

Phoenix shrugs, "Not everyone is all honorable like you are. In fact—"

Phox shushes him as on stage Oreta pulls a slip of paper from the girls reaping ball. The intake of breath from the crowd is audible.

"Amelia Vi—"

"I volunteer!" Before the name has even completely left Oreta's lips a girl's voice rings out. I scan the crowd looking for any glimpse of movement. After a few seconds I catch of glimpse of a girl elbowing her way through the crowd. There's no mistaking that glossy red-brown hair.

The girl who cut us in line mounts the stage with a sort of languid grace, as if she didn't just have to fight her way through a crowd to make it there.

Oreta shakes her hand enthusiastically. Behind them I can see the disapproval blooming across Atius' face. Next to him Lucretia's mouth is pinched in a tiny scowl. It appears the mentors do not approve of Alana's replacement.

"And what is your name."

Her icy gaze sweeps the stage and she smirks. "Indvidia Butler." There's a cheer from somewhere in the crowd as her friends roar their approval.

"And moving right along, time for the boys!" Without further ado Oreta plucks a paper from the boy's casket and reads out the name. "Roland Crag!"

"I volunteer as tribute!" I let the word wash across my tongue. As soon as they've left my mouth I start forward. I'm tall enough that the crowd parts before me like a sea.

The wooden steps creak a little as I climb them towards the stage. Invidia raises one eyebrow, regarding me with an intensity that makes me vaguely uncomfortable. Beyond her Atius gives me a little nod. Then Oreta ask for my name.

"Evory Mills." I direct my words straight at the nearest camera.

"How exciting! Two volunteers!" Oreta claps her hands, as if getting two volunteers is a rare occurrence instead of something that happens almost every year. "Now tributes shake hands."

I turn to face Invidia. She smiles at me and reaches out to seize my outstretched hand. But instead of shaking it she hefts it high above our heads in some sort of obscene symbol of victory. The whole district erupts in wild cheers and I glance at her.

"Oh go ahead and smile Evory. The capitol loves us already."

 **Invidia Butler (17)**

The toes of my black ballet flats scuff against the worn carpeted floor. Finger nails drum against the edge of the wooden bench. High on the paneled wall an old clock ticks away the seconds. I can't help wondering how many tributes just like me have sat in this room. How many of them ever came back?

 _I'm not like the rest of them._ I remind myself firmly, _I_ will _come back._

Out in the hallway I can hear the murmur of voices, Evory's family and friends come to say goodbye for the last time. No one is coming to see me. My family and I said farewell back at the house, and my friends just the before the reaping. To see them now would be just a distraction and from here on out I can't afford to be distracted.

It's a surprise then to hear the door creak on its aged hinges. I look up to see Nero—who has been my trainer since was eight—standing in the doorway

"There not pleased with you."

"Oh I know." I keep my voice as light as possible, sounding more like I'm going on some sort of vacation than entering into a deadly game of kill or be killed. "Have you come to wish me good luck?"

"I suppose." He grunts and pushes his way into the room. As he comes into the light it's hard to miss the criss-crossing of scars up and down his arms. Almost everyone at the training academy says they're from his own games, but no one knows for certain. He never talks about them and I can't recall ever seeing a rerun. "That was clever, what you did out there with Evory."

"In order to win you have to be memorable." I shrug as if it had been nothing, "So, have any last minute advice for me?"

He crosses his arms, "Listen to what Lucretia, she'll be your mentor now and her advice could very well keep you alive."

"What if I don't like her advice?" I think of Lucretia Merek's victory eighteen years ago—they like to show us that tape in training—and how she smashed her way to victory. No finesse, no planning just brute strength. I can't imagine she'll be able to offer me much.

Nero scowls, "Well you listen to it anyways girl." There's menace in his voice but it's long since lost its effect on me. "You know you weren't my first choice to go into that arena this year. I voted for Alana Baxwell, so did most of the trainers. We all agreed you're too unpredictable to risk it. She was the safer choice."

I spread my hands, "Yet here I am and I don't see Alana anywhere."

His scowl deepens, "I don't know what you did to that girl but—"

"Nothing, I did nothing." From the expression on Nero's face I can tell he doesn't believe me at all. "Alana's agreed to volunteer for the games. It's like a game you see. She took the risk and she paid the price."

"As did you. What makes you think you won't have to pay that same price in the arena."

"Perhaps, Perhaps. But I'll be much better at the game than Alana ever was." I rise from my seat and go to hold the door open for Nero to leave. "You see, when I play I play to win."


	5. District 3 Reaping

**Hi everyone. It's been a while hasn't it? My sincerest apologies for making you all wait. I've been dealing with some personal problems the last few weeks and that forced me to take a break from all my writing projects. However, things have for the most part been smoothed over so I'm now able to begin working on this again. I intend to update as often as I possibly can despite my crazy schedule. Again I'm really sorry about my recent absence and I hope that you're all still interested in this story.**

 **That being said, please enjoy the district 3 reapings.**

District 3 Reapings

 **Caspian Cacile (15)**

The coin flashes copper as it spins through the air, rotating on its axis. Mentally I run through the probability, the weight of the coin in my hand, which side it had rested on in my palm. _Heads._ I call it seconds before it lands on the worn floorboards between my feet with a distinctive thud.

Next to me Trenton peers forward to see the outcome. In the dim lighting of the dormitory he has to strain his eyes.

"It's heads."

 _Of course it is._ I'm never wrong after all.

Hurriedly I gather up the coin, glancing surreptitiously down the long row of beds. It's not worth hardly anything, but that's still enough to tempt potential thieves. However, the kids who inhabit the dormitory are too busy scrambling for their reaping clothes to bother with me now.

My own reaping outfit—so _graciously_ donated to the Government Home—lies neatly folded on the worn blankets of my bed.

I make to hand the coin back to Trenton but he shakes his head. "Nah, you can keep it."

"You're the one who found it." I stare at him. That coin could buy a loaf of bread at least.

He shrugs, "I figure it's a lucky coin, and you need luck more than I do." He's right about that I suppose. At only nine years old Trenton doesn't have a single slip in the reaping this year. I have six. Even so, when compared to the vast pool of district my six slips are hardly make a drop. I know, I've done the math.

Hesitantly I close my fingers around it. Beyond good luck I can't understand why he would give me something. We aren't exactly friends, unless you consider him following me around and me tolerating it as friendship.

He just grins, "You should probably change you know."

Somewhere downstairs an alarm blares. Normally it would mean the building was on fire, but on this very special day it only means it's time to go. The old clock on the dormitory wall tells me it's a quarter past ten. We have fifteen minutes until the reaping starts.

"Hurry up or you I'll take your grain rations." Sanus' voice cracks through the air like a whip. In all my years of living at the home I deduced that Sanus is the meanest boy in 3, also our dorm supervisor. He's scrawny, but I don't let that fool me. I've seen him beat up on enough kids to know he's stronger than he looks. Each year I hope that he'll be reaped but it never happens. Besides he's mean enough he might just come home.

Under the threat of food deprivation I scramble into action. All around the room others are doing the same. Quickly I strip out of my clothes only to replace them with the reaping outfit. The black pants are faded and the button down has some stains but it'll do. It's better than last year anyway, when my shirt had a huge hole in it.

In the grimy pane of the window I can just make out my reflection. I can't help thinking I look tired, worn out. I was up all last night, working a shift at one of the factories and as of right now I can barely keep my eyes open. And I'm not the only one. Across the room one of the twelve year olds has fallen asleep in the midst of tying his shoes. It earns him a sharp whack from Sanus.

There's a pile of books on the floor by my bed, all the textbooks I've either stolen or bought with my meager earnings. I squat down and pry up one of the floorboards. Underneath is a mess of times tables, rulers and other scholastic implements. I drop the books down and then cover it again with the rough wooden plank. Technically speaking they're all contraband, since the places I acquired them were illegal. But no cares really. Even the government workers who run the home understand that if you want a better life in 3 you need an education. Still, we never know when there'll be a peacekeeper inspection and then best if everything is out of sight.

"Move it Cacile!" A rough hand cuffs me on the back of the head. I wait until Sanus is gone before I push myself up.

I slip the coin into my pocket and join the throng of kids heading down the rickety staircase. Trenton follows close at my heal. Down in the dingy atrium of the government home kids are milling around. The older ones are being gathered into one line and the youngers into another.

"Go on." I nudge Trenton toward the other kids of his age, as I do arranging my facing into the best comforting smile I can. "I'll find you after okay."

He grins and wanders off to stand in line. I make sure no one's watching then quietly slip out the side door. It creeks shut behind me on it's rusted hinges. The small yard of the orphanage is littered with broken toys and bits of trash, all set against the backdrop of yellowing grass. Beyond the concrete warehouses and factories of District 3 stand out against the sky. Their smokestacks belch noxious fumes.

The path I take to town square is a rather non-descript one. Today everyone will be bustling down the main streets. The whole district is required by law to turn out and there will be lots of crying from parents and children alike. I'd just as soon avoid the noise. Instead I wind my way between warehouses and ramshackle apartment complexes. It's a familiar path to me, passing right by the factory where I help manufacture computer chips after school most days. Now it stands silent for what I imagine is the only day in the year.

I almost miss the sound of the whirring machinery. Without it the building seems to quiet.

My solitude doesn't last nearly long enough. Instead I'm soon joined by more stragglers, all rushing towards the main square. Little girls clutch at their mother's hands and boys walk with their heads down. A line soon appears, winding its way around the buildings. I join the queue, occasionally jostling to get just a few steps ahead.

The further I get in line—the closer to the square—the cheerier the buildings look. But it's a forced kind of cheerfulness, with bright banners and ribbons draped over crumbling bricks. This crumbling façade might be enough to fool the capitol but the truth is no one here celebrates the reaping.

I reach the front of the line and wait as a peacekeeper checks in the boy who stood in front of me. The justice building has been festooned with an enormous poster of President Snow as well as a flag bearing the symbol of district 3. I flaps sadly in the sporadic breeze. On the tops of buildings cameras hum. No doubt all of them were manufactured right here in 3.

"Next please."

I close my eyes and finger the coin in my pocket. _It's all right,_ I tell myself, _I won't be picked._ And after all, I'm never wrong.

 **Lennox Briggs (15)**

A gusty breeze tears across District 3. Overhead the clouds real and twist. Cautiously, aware that others are watching, I reach up to smooth the wisps of hair that blow free of their neat bun. Far in the distance the twelve smokestacks of 3 fan their putrid fog across the district. Despite the wind and the chill in the air the main square is stifling. Rows upon rows of teenagers cram together in the too-small space before the justice building. In all practicality the reaping should have been moved years ago, as the districts population ballooned, but tradition necessitates concessions.

I can't help but thinking that when I'm the leader of the district this will be the first thing I change.

Over the heads of the crowd I can just make out my father, sitting with the other district officials in the crisp suit he saves for special occasions. At present he is deep in conversation with the mayor. I have no doubts they're discussing the recent demand for microscopic computer chips in the capitol. After all, there's no time like a reaping to maximize District 3's economic potential.

Nearby this year's mentors sit. Beetee Laitier and Wiress Okana look uneasy under the attention of the camera crews. Wiress won only a few years ago—making her the most recent victor of district 3—but there are dark circles under her eyes giving her the appearance of being much older. Beetee looks slightly more collected. I'm not particularly fond of the Games but I can appreciate the cunning and skill it took both of them to win. It is impressive to the least.

However, even he falls silent when Casius bounds up on stage. Perpetually smiling, it's clear to see out district escort has changed up his personal style since last year. Gaudy silver chains and tight metallic fabric have been replaced by shimmery flowing garments. It still looks ridiculous to my eyes, and I'm sure to the rest of the district.

"Helloooooo everyone!" The odd clip of the capitol accent assaults my ears. "What a treat it is to be back in District 3." He beams as if we should be delighted to see him.

Pale nervous faces are all that stares back. I pinch my lips together, trying to look as calm and collected as possible. Unlike the majority of kids crammed all around me I have nothing to fear. Most of them have been taking tesserae since the day they turned twelve, but living in my comfortable brownstone near the center of the district I don't have more than three slips to my name. Those are slim to impossible odds.

As Casius gives a brief history of the games—bouncing excitedly on the balls of his feet as he does so—I scan the crowd for Aiden. I spot him among the other sixteen year old boys, dressed impeccably neat as always. He sees my looking and gives a small smile before directing his gaze back to the proceedings in front of the justice building. Just like me, he knows that today he must set a good example.

"Now the time everyone has been waiting for has come! Shall we select our female tribute?" It's a rhetorical question, and Casuis moves forward to the reaping ball without waiting for an answers. Swiftly he snatches a slip from the very top of the bowl and holds it up. "Lennox Briggs!"

The name washes over me and for a split second I am left searching the crowd, wondering who it is that's been called. Then I realize it's my name. Emotions swirl through me. It's impossible, inconceivable. The odds are so utterly against it.

"Lennox Briggs?" I press my lips together, tamping down every last bit of doubt and fear. Up on the stage my father's face is white as a sheet. His eyes find mine and I nod, the most reassurance I can give him. I smooth my hair one last time and begin the long walk to the justice building. I can feel the camera's fixed on me like spotlights. My face is plastered across the screens mounted on the surrounding buildings. I raise my chin up, proud as any career from district 2. I won't show them any fear.

Casuis practically beams at me as I climb the steps. I wonder if he's counting his lucky stars that he doesn't have to deal with a weepy terrified tribute like almost every other year.

Then he goes to the second sphere, digging around a bit more before finding an appropriate slip. "Caspian Cacile!"

The camera's spin to a tall boy with dark curly hair and glasses. I recognize him vaguely from school, though we've never spoken. He's one of the kids from the Home I think, and I don't tend to associate with them. His mouth gapes for a brief second before he regains his composure, walking blank faced towards the steps of the justice building. The crowd parts, relief etched on their faces. They have survived another year.

Caspian and I are not so lucky.

Upon the steps of the justice building we face each other. I hold out one hand to him and he takes it hesitantly. For an awkward fraction of a second we clasp hands before turning away to face the district.

"Let's have a big hand for this year's tributes." Casuis roars, more than making up for the polite smattering of applause that follows with his own overenthusiastic clapping. He throws an arm over each of our shoulders—quite feet since Caspian is affair bit taller than him—and steers us toward the door of the justice building.

As we pass I see my father's face. He looks at me blankly, all the emotions carefully masked. I can't help thinking he's looking at me as if I am already dead.


End file.
